Sentinel Fan Fiction Page || Fanfic -- Holiday stories

Written in response to the 1999 CascadeTimes New Year's Eve/Day Challenge. I got lazy with this one, so not all of the objects actually *appear*. Some are just mentioned.

Story had to include: toilet paper, Jim 'owie', a New Year's resolution, red paint, miniature golf, dentures, boxer shorts, "Clue" game, crickets, and a letter.

Letter Home
by Becky
December 1999

The red-haired woman folded her legs gracefully beneath her as she settled onto the large, comfortable couch positioned in front of the tall windows. Outside, snow fell quietly onto the ground and distant trees. Inside, a fire crackled in the background, blending with the oddly soothing new age music drifting from a small sound system and scent of sage hanging in the air. The room was empty except for its lone occupant, though muted voices could be heard drifting from another part of the large house.

Pulling a soft multi-colored afghan to cover her lap, the woman fingered the envelope in her hands, running long fingers over the familiar handwriting on the front, a smile flitting over her features. With a shake of her head and a small laugh, she quickly opened the envelope and drew forth two pieces of papers, filled with flowing words, penned in a script she knew better than her own...

Dear Naomi,

Hi Mom! Not sure when you'll get this or where you'll be when it finds you, so Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! Wherever you are, know that I'm thinking of you.

How are things? In your last letter, you mentioned a new retreat. How was it? Did you meet anybody interesting? Someday I'll have to see if I can get some time off and I can go with you. There are days when I could use a little 'centering' downtime. Things get pretty hectic at the station. Maybe we could bring Jim too. ~laugh~

Then again, maybe not. I don't know that I could see him meditating for hours and chanting. He'd probably go cross-eyed and run screaming into the woods. Besides, if he did come, I'd have to keep an eye on you or you'd be flirting with him. I still cannot believe you found out his birthday and sent him those silk boxer shorts. Mom! I mean...come on, if you want to get the man a birthday present, get him socks or a "Clue" game or something. Silk boxer shorts?! Mom!

Laughing, Naomi smiled in memory of seeing those particular boxers in a display and thinking how wonderful she thought they'd look on Jim -- even if she never got to see him modeling them. She also remembered the very lovely thank-you card she received in return. Such a nice man -- for a cop.

Anyway, life's been busy as usual in Cascade. I know you worry about me, but I'm okay. Really. I mean, I know what Jim does is dangerous, but he keeps me safe. Well, most of the time. No one's perfect. Not even Jim. But whatever happens, I'm okay. You have to believe that. This is where I want to be.

A small sigh escaped Naomi, feeling a kind of sad resignation mixed with motherly fear that her only child, her baby, her son, was living such a dangerous life. At the same time, she couldn't help but be happy for him. He'd found his place, his purpose, his calling. He was happy. That was what mattered.

Not everything Jim does is catch scary bad guys. Sometimes we end up with these really strange cases, usually something the mayor wants to give "special handling." ~snort~ And since Jim was "Cop of the Year" a bit ago (did I tell you that before?), guess who gets these wonderful little cases?

You gotta feel sorry for the man. This week, we ended up doing stakeouts to figure out who was stringing toilet paper on the mayor's cousin's sister-in-law's nephew's son's doghouse -- or something like that. Jim was *not* a happy camper. He's supposed to be stopping murderers or jewel thieves or something. Instead, he was chasing down some rich, pimply teenager who had nothing else to do in the evenings but be a menace. ~sigh~ I swore Jim was gonna need dentures before we caught the guy. He kept grinding away as we waited for the guy to show.

It took us three nights of stakeouts, listening to crickets making their homes in the bed of Jim's truck before the Toilet Paper Idiot struck again. This time he brought a bucket of red paint as well. Not sure what he planned to do with it, but both Jim and I sacrificed a good pair of jeans to the cause since he threw said bucket -- which was open -- at us before he ran.

She covered her mouth with one hand, eyes widening as she read on, caught up in the tale Blair wove with his words.

The two of us chased the guy on foot, red paint-splashed jeans and all, through the neighborhood and several backyards, evading various dogs with large teeth and old ladies with evil-looking brooms. Man, he was fast! The TP guy, that is. We ended up in some miniature golf place where Jim tackled the guy at Hole 7.

Only thing was Hole 7 had a nice little pond next to it. Jim slipped and fell in, bringing the TP dude with him. He (Jim) twisted his ankle and the other guy smacked his head against the rock wall. Jim hauled him out and cuffed him. Neither were very happy about being wet. The manager of the place wasn't happy either -- the pond water was turning pink since the paint on Jim's jeans hadn't really dried yet... Oh, yeah, he (the bad guy) also still had the roll of toilet paper with him when Jim tackled him. So that was sorta dissolving in the pond as well. All-in-all, not a pretty sight.

At the point, I decided to escape, saying I had to get the truck (which was true) and call for backup (also true). Jim stayed where he was, holding onto the guy and trying to explain to the poor befuddled families who'd been playing golf and the manager just who he was and what he was doing.

Anyway, backup arrived, I got the truck, the bad guy was taken in, and we went home. Jim's been hobbling around since then, muttering about making a New Year's resolution to never agree to take one of the mayor's "special handling" assignments again. ~grin~ I haven't had the heart to remind the poor guy that we usually don't have a choice in the matter.

And, no, Naomi, he does *not* need you to visit to kiss it and make it better! So, don't even think about it!

Naomi laughed again, her eyes twinkling in fond amusement at her paranoid son.

Right now, we're back on our normal caseload again, though Simon, er, Captain Banks, always laughs when I call us normal. ~grin~ It's nothing terribly dangerous. Actually, it's has to do with stolen museum artifacts showing up on the black market. For some reason, those cases, when they appear, always end up in our lap. I guess they figure since they've got an anthropologist on the team, they'd better use him. ~laugh~ And that way they don't have to worry about dealing with some nosy outsider.

Oops, I've gotta get going, Mom. We just got a call about a lead. So I'll close now and drop this in the mail on our way out. I love you. Take care. Call me when you can.

Love,
Blair

P.S. Jim says "Hi," by the way. He sends his love and says to come by for a visit sometime. This has better be agape love, Naomi. Or else I'm never leaving the two of you alone. Oh, now Jim's laughing that little laugh of his. The two of you just like to torture me, don't you?

Love you, Mom. Miss you.

Touching the paper, Naomi smiled and whispered, "I miss you too, Blair."

- The End -